last-mentioned portion of the costume is beginning to be no longer a matter of choice.

But it was nearly three o'clock, and the party was drawing to a close. It was the best of all times for the observer to use his faculties; there were fewer people dancing, the circulation was less impeded, and the guests who remained ventured to talk and laugh a little. Toward the close of a ball, informality takes the place of ceremony, and many women do not begin to be charming until they cease to be affected. Some persons who had not previously had an opportunity to speak together were conversing in a corner of the salon. Young men chatted with the pretty partners, whom they invited from choice rather than necessity. The ladies smiled more sweetly upon their escorts; people drew nearer together, they knew one another better.

Monsieur de Montreville walked about his salons with the amiable manner of a host who excels in the art of doing the honors. He talked with an elderly marchioness who was sitting alone on a sofa; he said a courteous word to a lady who was not dancing; and, on his way to her, found time to bestow a compliment or two on the young dancers; he saw to it that the punch was passed around, and the ices; he spent a moment looking over the écarté table, and if somebody was wanted to take a bet he was always ready.

But what was Frédéric doing, leaning against that mantel-shelf? he seemed to be devoting his whole attention to the dance; but was it really the quadrille which interested him so deeply? and why, if he was thinking of nothing but that pretty maiden's agile movements, did he seem to be suffering? Yes, to the keen observer, his tranquillity was assumed, the smile which passed over his lips when he was spoken to was forced and unnatural. Frédéric was preoccupied, but not with the dance. A few feet away from him a young woman was seated, a young woman not more than twenty years old, although she had been three years married to a sexagenarian notary, who was in the cardroom at that moment.

Madame Dernange was very pretty; her vivacity, the sparkle of her eyes, her costume, her brilliant intellect, everything about her had a dazzling effect: she attracted, subjugated, enslaved, with a glance; but, as she knew the power of her charms, she sought constantly to add to the number of her adorers. At sixteen, she married Monsieur Dernange, without the slightest affection for him; but she married him joyfully. She was impatient to be her own mistress, and to give a free rein to her penchant for flirtation.

With a husband nearly sixty, she was very certain of being able to do just what she chose; and, in fact, Monsieur Dernange left her perfectly untrammelled. She was seen at all receptions, balls, festivities of every description. Sometimes her husband escorted her, but generally he went to bed about the time that his wife left the house; which did not prevent them from leading a very peaceful life. It is a very simple matter to live happily with your wife: all you have to do is just to allow her to do whatever she desires.

Monsieur Dernange had an abundance of savoir vivre; he was enchanted to have his wife enjoy herself. Many people declared that the young woman did not abuse his confidence, and it is very possible: she was a great flirt, but flirts love no one; however, it is not well to trust them too far.

Frédéric had not been able to look upon the brilliant Madame Dernange with an indifferent eye. She had had no difficulty in setting him on fire with a glance, and with a glance she had realized her triumph. The young Comte de Montreville was not a conquest to be disdained; Madame Dernange resolved to fasten him to her chariot, and for that nothing more was necessary than a glance or two, an occasional smile, a faint pressure of the hand, and a veiled remark uttered in a voice that seemed to tremble slightly. And the coquette used all her powers with such art! She was not in love, and she knew so well how to win love! A person who loves sincerely has much more difficulty in making an impression than one who does not love at all; for the latter is able to avail herself of all her advantages, while the other, striving to appear amiable, is often only awkward and embarrassed. Ninon said that, and Ninon knew what she was talking about.

Poor Frédéric very soon succumbed to that treatment; he believed that she loved, yes, adored him! and for a few days he lost his head. But at this party of his father's a young and gorgeous colonel had made his appearance; he was a man notorious for his bonnes fortunes, his amorous adventures; a man, in a word, whom any woman might be proud to number among her captives, and Madame Dernange had at once determined to achieve this new triumph.

Poor Frédéric! you were utterly forgotten: she no longer gave a thought to you, but was engrossed by the handsome colonel. Now and again, she deigned to smile sweetly upon you, it is true; but you were in love, you were jealous, and you saw that the coquette instantly turned her eyes upon the man she desired to enslave.

Several times the young man had approached the scintillating Dernange; he wished to show her that he had detected her perfidy; but she contented herself with smiling at him, and saying:

"What on earth is the matter with you to-night, Monsieur de Montreville? You have a solemn air which is most amusing."

How comforting such words are to a jealous lover! Frédéric made no reply, but walked away with rage in his heart, while the coquette laughed long and loud at a bright remark made by the colonel, or by some other of her adorers.

Frédéric was on pins and needles all the evening; and, toward the close of the festivities, seeing Madame Dernange on a sofa, on which the colonel also had taken his seat, he stationed himself a few steps away. He leaned against a mantel, with his back turned to them, and pretended to be engrossed by the dance; but he did not lose a word of what was said on the sofa. The colonel was amiable and gallant; he strove to make himself agreeable to Madame Dernange, and she put forth all her powers and played with him with her usual grace. She laughed so heartily, she was so pretty, so fascinating, when she desired to make a favorable impression! There was a constant exchange of compliments and clever retorts, during which poor Frédéric was all on fire. If he had not held himself in check, he would have insulted the colonel and overwhelmed the faithless one with reproaches. Luckily, he retained his senses sufficiently to realize all the impropriety of such a scene, and all the ridicule it would bring upon him; for in love intrigues the party who complains, and who is betrayed, is always laughed at. It is said: the vanquished pay the fine; we might vary this proverb slightly, and thus make it truer, except in England, where husbands are in the habit of exacting compensation in money when they are in the position which I understand by vanquished.

The colonel paid his court in military fashion—that is to say, he made much progress in a short time. Unluckily, this method is often successful. Unluckily for timid lovers, that is; or is not she the best who makes us happy most promptly? Frédéric heard him ask Madame Dernange's permission to call to pay his respects. The respects of a colonel of hussars! Frédéric was bathed in cold perspiration at the thought. The pretty woman made some resistance; she laughed and joked, and said that he must ask her husband first; then added, with a rippling laugh:

"But, no; no, you needn't! Monsieur Dernange will have no objection."

The colonel was urgent, and he received permission. Frédéric was choking with rage; he walked hastily away, for he could stand it no longer. He went into a room which was empty for the moment, a large number of the guests having already taken their leave.

He threw himself into an easy-chair. The room was but dimly lighted by